


the privilege of being yours

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Episode: s06e13 The Blood of Sanctum, M/M, Murphy-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 10:47:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20308225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: As the war for Sanctum rages in every direction, Murphy meets a man named Zev Lee on a castle balcony and comes to a long-awaited conclusion.





	the privilege of being yours

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "turning page" by sleeping at last. thanks, as always, to the gc for their unconditional support.

It’s the end of days, and Murphy’s supposed to act as a god. He thinks, as he stands on a balcony overlooking a fiery Sanctum, that he’s already failed. 

Emori had backed out before the ceremony had even begun. She’d donned the extravagant blue gown and accompanying fitted glove that had been laid out for her, took a look in a mirror, then fixed her eyes on his and declared that this wasn’t who they were, and though Murphy’s plan had been a good one, the situation had changed too drastically for her to follow through. “I love you,” she said, “but I have to save our friends.”

“This  _ is _ how we save our friends,” he’d argued, “and how we stay together, after.”

She’d only given him a sad look before she turned heel and slipped out of the castle gates, disappearing somewhere into the night. Murphy, though, he stuck around a little longer. He’d watched his reflection steadily grow stronger as a servant of the Primes fixed his hair, and then applied some sort of black marker around his eyes. 

“If you like,” they said, as they carefully traced the crevices of his eyes, “I could use this and give you a marking, like Kaylee Prime has. It would match.”

Emori’s absence had yet to be discovered, so he hastily nodded, somewhat entranced by the process. Murphy had never had someone  _ else _ do this for him, let alone willingly and with the careful precision that this person possessed. He watched as the face he saw in his reflection changed, and grew regal. The black lines around his eyes emphasized his features in a way that felt almost foreign, but welcome. 

It had been a long, long time since he’d just looked at himself like this. He wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw, but he was fascinated by the changes. Once completed, the facial design mimicked Emori’s - which hurt him, only for a moment - but once he removed himself from the initial reminder it felt so distinctly personal. 

Murphy had never looked  _ nice _ before. He’d never been treated this way - not revered, necessarily, but with compassion. It felt odd, like he didn’t deserve it. The anxiety began to rise in his chest, but he stayed transfixed on his own reflection, unable to comprehend that the man staring back at him was truly himself.

He didn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes before the servant helping him yelped, swiftly grabbing a cloth to dab them away. “Please, do not cry,” they’d said, smiling softly in true empathy. “There is no reason to, and you have smudged your eyeliner!”

The servant made a motion to begin re-applying and fixing what had been destroyed by Murphy’s brief spell of emotion, but he gently grabbed their wrist and pushed their hand down, away from his face. “It’s okay,” he said, “I think I like it better this way.”

Softly, they replied, “You sound like Daniel,” before they took their leave and left Murphy all alone in a fancy suit and with a fancy face and he was sure didn’t, couldn’t belong to him. 

He didn’t know what kind of a person Daniel Lee had been. He didn’t know if that was the kind of person he wanted to be, let alone if he should continue on this path and even  _ become _ Daniel. Emori had chosen otherwise. So why was he still here? Maybe he would never be Daniel Lee, but as he gazed deeply at his own image, he was sure that this confident, elegant man was not John Murphy. 

After a moment, he decided he was tired of being John Murphy, anyways. 

So he’d smoothed out his suit, threw a cape over his shoulders and allowed the world to stare at him for a while as he marched out of his room and to the grand hall of the castle, where the rest of the Primes stood waiting. 

“And where is your partner?” Russell called out when he laid eyes on Murphy. 

He thought about being honest, but didn’t see a need to be. “I assumed she was already here.”

Russell shook his head without much care. “It seems she has had other thoughts. No matter. We can continue without her.”

Josephine was there, across the room, looking suspiciously like Clarke. Gabriel was tied up in a chair close to her. Already bored by the politics and speeches, Murphy quickly tuned out Russell’s voice, and only picked up his attention when Simone Prime rounded the corner wearing Abby Griffin’s skin. 

_ Abby had been the one to look after him when he was sick, as a child. She’d always told him that she was proud of him, or at least, she’d implied it, sometimes. He’d risked his life to save hers, and the last thing she told him was that he didn’t have to be so scared, not anymore, and -  _

It didn’t matter. Abby Griffin was dead. Murphy can’t stomach looking at her. Somehow, it’s different than it was with Clarke. 

“It’s time for us to leave Sanctum,” Russell decided, which is when Murphy finally started listening to him again. “First, we take their ship.”

And - no. He couldn’t spend another century trapped in space, without anyone to care about. He wouldn’t.

Yet, just like that, the Primes committed themselves to stealing countless more generation’s bodies, and followed Russell out the door. It felt sick to Murphy that they did so only after releasing the toxin on the general people of Sanctum, the innocents, the ones that were only seeking the truth. 

He thought that gods should try not to leave chaos in their wake, but he’d never been in power before, so he couldn’t be sure. 

Josephine merely brushed by him on the way out, as did the rest of the Primes, the people he’d been meant to be spending eternity with. Russell didn’t bother checking behind him to see if Murphy was even following. It reminded Murphy of when he was younger, when he’d follow whoever declared themselves leader like a loyal soldier, regardless of what they thought of him or his personal safety.

(That’s not quite true. He wouldn’t have followed just anybody).

He’d always thought that was an admirable quality that he possessed, but then, as old compulsions urged him to follow Russell without question, he stood firm and turned the other way, leaving the castle behind him. 

Now, as he stands on the castle balcony and watches the crowd scream and tear at each other below him, he wonders if choosing this path was a mistake. 

He can’t help these people. He still holds the appearance of Daniel Prime - half of the crowd wants to worship him, while the other half wants to tear his head off. Murphy had never been given a chance to feel  _ nice _ before, but as he stands watching Sanctum’s very first civil war, he can’t help but feel selfish for it yet again. All that time he spent with just himself, and he could have done something to stop this. He’s sure there’s a better choice he could have made along the lines, but he wishes someone would just  _ tell _ him what he could have done better instead of spitting in his face again and calling him  _ traitor _ .

Murphy’s pulled from his thoughts as an unfamiliar man, dressed in religious white robes comes bounding up the staircase. There’s no time to react as he closes the distance between them and locks Murphy in for a kiss.

At first, he pulls back, out of instinct, but there is something about the way the man gently places a hand on his cheek and the butterflies that form in his chest that keep him there. After a second, Murphy hesitantly kisses back, feeling dazed but yet, somehow, loved. 

The moment is tender but over far too soon. “You came back to me,” the man says, in the softest, sweetest whisper that Murphy had ever heard. He knows the words are not meant for him (though, in his deepest recesses, he wishes they were). 

He knows that he should lie, and kiss the man again, and give him back the love that has been so graciously thrown his way, but he can’t. Never in his long life has he been treated with such love and compassion so freely, and so maybe Murphy’s a selfish person - but he’s not a cruel one. He can’t claim this pure love for himself. There’s something so genuine about his presence that Murphy can’t bring himself to deceive him. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, “but I’m not who you think I am.”

Instantly, the man’s face crumples and he backs away. The loss of his presence physically pains Murphy, but only until he recomposes himself and stops allowing vulnerability. It had been a nice change, allowing his walls to crumble and the mask to fall, but like the markings on his face, it can’t last forever. He knows this by now. 

“You - don’t remember me?”

“I’m not Daniel,” he says. “I’m sorry - I really am.”

The man swallows, hard, then nods, turning his eyes to the ground. Below them, chaos rages onwards, but it’s condemned to just background noise for the both of them. “What they are saying is true, then. The Primes are not divine.”

Not only has Murphy stolen his man’s love, he’s stolen his faith, too.  _ Selfish _ . “It’s true. They’re just ordinary people who murder others so that they can live longer.”

At his sides, the man’s hands curl into fists. “I - I thought it might be so, but...I didn’t want to believe Daniel was a killer.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not good at this. “I don’t think they see it that way,” he tries, but even he knows that it doesn’t help. 

“He was my husband,” the man continues, “and when I saw you I thought...I thought he was back. My apologies.”

“Wait!” Murphy calls, stopping him from leaving. “I didn’t even get your name.”

“Zev.”

“Well, Zev, for what it’s worth, you seem like a really nice guy. A good kisser, too.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Well...thank you. What do they call you?”

And, well, he knows he isn’t Daniel, but he still isn’t ready to be Murphy. There’s some kind of conclusion he’s been searching for that’s just out of reach, he knows, but he doesn’t know how to get there. He does know that he’s never felt as at peace as he did then when Zev was showing his love, so - 

“If you don’t mind,” he says, closing the distance between them, “a kiss goodbye? Before I never see you again?”

_ The man’s just lost his husband, forever, his religion, and his city is burning. Selfish -  _

Zev takes his hands, squeezing them softly as he stares into Murphy’s eyes. “You’re in love with this moment, not with me,” he says, “but there is somebody else you’d like to share it with.”

And - yeah. 

“I’m sorry,” Murphy says, again, but Zev just smiles. 

“You will find your answers,” he says, before gently pulling away, and then descending the staircase, disappearing into the frenzy. 

Sanctum has descended into chaos, but Murphy can say with confidence that this is not his fault, and this may have always been the outcome of their system. Still, he walks down the staircase with confidence, a clear target in his mind. 

Through the fray, wearing one of the worst sweaters Murphy’s ever seen, is Bellamy Blake. His eyes narrow in suspicion when he sees Murphy’s appearance, fancy suit meant only for Primes and all, and then widen in realization. 

Swiftly, and with purpose, Murphy closes the distance between them and pulls Bellamy in for a kiss, placing a hand on his cheek in an attempt to be gentle. Murphy was never taught how to be soft, but he knows now that he can still learn. 

“Murphy,” Bellamy says, “you came back to me.”

The world is on fire all around them, yet John Murphy can say with certainty that this moment, with this person in particular, is the conclusion he’s been searching for. 

**Author's Note:**

> i kinda just threw zev and murphy thoughts on the page and hoped they work. i'm not sure if this study reveals anything we didn't already know, but it was fun to write. i hope u liked it. 
> 
> come talk to me on twitter @sapphictomaz if u like! if u do, i'll give u a hug


End file.
